


Of Drunkards and Dissociations

by Pride_Before_The_Fall



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is Very Sorry She's Starting A New Story When She Has FIve Other Stories to Update, F/M, Gods? What Gods?, Graphic Depictions of Drowning, Here There Be Monsters!, M/M, Main Character Has Sleep Paraylsis, Main Character is Done With Your Shit, Main Character is in Denial, rawr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pride_Before_The_Fall/pseuds/Pride_Before_The_Fall
Summary: He drowns in his sleep even as he breathes.He died once, in an ocean of deep, dark blue with no warmth or light to be found.He remembers it, in a hazy fever dream kind of way, the water as it waved through his hair like greedy fingers trying to pull him down, the way his head felt like exploding and his lungs seized on used-up air; the way it rushed eagerly into his mouth when he couldn’t stand the burning any longer— the way it stole the very breath from his lungs like a gluttonous parasite.And then—He woke up.He wakes in a rickety bed, in a too-small room, with more bodies than space, and a Matron calling him by a different name than his own. He wakes to a face that wasn’t his, in a body that wasn’t right, and to a life he's never lived and wonders— just for a second, as he stares at his reflection and his reflection stares accusingly back— if he’s gone mad.Or alternately:When the last strangled gasp of air escaped his lungs, Andy Bovino breathed his last— and András Bonello, son of the Wine God, breathes his first.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Nico di Angelo/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to say, "I'm so sorry for not updating all five of my other stories."
> 
> I'm not abandoning them, nor do I have any plans to do so; and for future reference, I'm on Ao3 every day, so I see all the comments and I really like reading them, lol.

> _"I feel like a fish out of water,_
> 
> _Or maybe more like a bird in the sea,_
> 
> _Because I'm certain I'm drowning,_
> 
> _In a place I was never meant to be."_
> 
> _— O.A_

* * *

It’s been years, and yet, when his eyes close, all he can see is the darkness of the abyss— of the deep ocean.

The suffocating feeling of water smothering his airways and the cool weightlessness of the uncaring sea around him, and when he wakes, he just sees more of the same. The vision of water floating over his head obscures that of the ceiling he knows is there.

He lives a waking nightmare for those few moments where dreams and reality blur and overlap. Those horrifying moments where he can’t breathe because there’s _water_ where there should be _air_ and his arms are useless and stiff as he tries to get them to thrash and claw for the surface; the moments where his body is paralyzed while he just sinks deeper and deeper into the cold, apathetic grasp of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

He’s four-years-old when he wakes in a world that he’s only ever heard about through the pages of ink and paper.

But he was thirteen when the waves stole him from the deck of his family’s fishing boat. A storm, one that came in from the Mediterranean, one that crackled with tension and lightning as his grandparents hurried to get the boat to shore. Storms were rare, and their ship was small— there was no chance they’d make it.

And they didn’t.

But Andy— _András_ did.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

> _"He wishes death would embrace him as whole heartedly as his watery grave did._
> 
> _At least, with death, it was final._
> 
> _drowning, however, was a waking nightmare he couldn't escape_
> 
> _— no matter how hard he tried."_
> 
> _— Andras Bonello_

* * *

As far as André was concerned, the world was cruel and people were too.

He scrambled up the fence as the teenagers chasing him started yelling. His shoes— so worn that they talked with every step he took despite the extra duct tape— fumbled between the links in the fence and his fingers burned and stung as he scratched at the metal.

Teenagers were by far the most ruthless, however.

A hand clamped around his ankle and André flailed, his leg kicking out until he heard a curse and the hand dropped away. The soft crunch of something— something that weirdly reminded him of tinfoil— vibrated through the worn sole of his shoe, but he ignored it in favor of hurling himself up the fence as fast as his puny, prepubescent body could.

André couldn’t help but hate his life as he finally tumbled over the other side of the fence only to slam on top of a conveniently placed dumpster.

He groaned even as he rolled off it, the teens behind him might be laughing now, but it would only take a few minutes for them to start after him once more. Andre hobbled around the corner with the sound of a shaking fence and teenage mutters following him out into the streets of San Francisco.

His small, 6-year-old form was immediately swallowed up by the busy traffic of people, no one sparing a look to the hunched shoulders of a young boy with black hair and red eyes.

* * *

Andy— _André_ thought he would’ve enjoyed having a second chance at life, but, as you saw earlier, he found that there were _some_ drawbacks that prevented him from being totally stoked about it all.

“ _András Bonello!_ Where do you think you’re going?!” A voice boomed from behind him and André froze in his attempt to sneak upstairs

One of those drawbacks was his caretaker, Mr. Tucker.

There, silhouetted in the kitchen doorway with his hands on his hips, was Mr. Tucker; with shadows at his back like some kind of demented caretaker from hell. More than that, he could spot the jerk-faced teenagers that chased him four blocks from the post office after school. They stuck their heads around the edge of the doorway behind Mr. Tucker, unseen. The smirks they had told him he had a much anticipated beatdown waiting for him when he finally made it to his room.

André grimaced and dropped his gaze back to the pastel-clad Mr. Patrick “Patty” Tucker. Of course, they weren’t supposed to call him that to his face unless they wanted to be garden feed for next spring’s peonies; or at least that’s what Tony from the fifth floor says, and he’s been here the longest.

“Can you give me a reason _not_ to put you on bathroom duty for the next month?” Mr. Tucker said, disappointed as he rubbed his forehead in exhaustion; knocking his floral-print eye-mask askew.

André looked down and scuffed the toe of his sneaker at the worn carpet beneath his feet; but didn’t try to answer Mr. Tucker’s question.

Mr. Tucker sighed and André flinched and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hiding his clenched fists. “ ‘m sorry,” he mumbled.

Mr. Tucker had a way of making you feel guilty; even if you haven’t done anything wrong…yet. André swallowed as the train ticket hidden in his waistband burned his skin with the weight of his guilt.

“Just…Just go to your room, André.” He nodded and hurried up the stairs. “—and André?” Mr. Tucker called before André was halfway up the stairs.

“Yes?” He said, nervous and guilty all a once. He really didn’t mean to stay out so late, or even be caught sneaking-in in the first place! But…he had to go back to the post office ‘cause right next door was the train station and he’d been planning this for _months._

“You’re on bathroom duty starting tomorrow morning.”

André frowned, but nodded; he won’t be here much longer anyway.

* * *

A week into “Bathroom Duty” André made his break after school, of course, it didn’t go over as well as he always imagined it would in his head— but, not all plans were bully-proof and André couldn’t really tell you where it all went wrong.

“Oi, freak! You can’t run forever!”

No, he really couldn’t and André was already running low on his Mountain-Dew-and-Cheetos fueled energy— but, he was so close to the train station that he could almost taste the engine smoke (that could just be the natural smog of San Francisco, but André tried to remain optimistic).

Now, you might be wondering who exactly was chasing him— and André actually had an answer for that, it was Davin and his groupies. Davin was, in nice terms, a smart jerk-wad; his cronies? Slightly less intelligent jerk-wads.

Davin was one of the few older teens still left in _Orbona: Home of Military Children,_ and was as twice as bitter and angry as any other orphan left here, most ran away or were shipped off to some training camp else where in the country; or something, André didn’t really know, or care for that matter, but _Davin_ did considering he’d been there since birth. So, he took out his inferiority complex on everyone else.

Davin liked to catch kids on their way back from school, and shake them down for money or treats— or even just to have someone to kick around that wouldn’t fight back.

André refused to be one of those kids— and now, here he is, running for the livelihood of his hard earned allowance and treat-stuffed-backpack; and if they caught him now, of all days, he’d never make it to he train station on time.

“Please,” André panted when Davin got too close and grazed the back of his hoody. He pled to whatever god he could think of— from whatever pantheon that popped into his head, “I just need to get to the station, _please._ ” Half the words were practically silent due to lack of breath, and the other half sounded like André smoked a pack of cigarettes everyday for a whole _year._

But, his prayers went unanswered and André resigned himself to a future trapped in a group home of militant jerk-heads, that liked to try and steal his Code Red Mountain Dew.

André ran across the street, aiming for an alley that led straight to the train station, but as he threw himself into the mouth of the alley Davin snagged a handful of his backpack causing him to trip; André’s hands tingled as he shoved himself up just as fast as he went down, shaking off Davin’s meaty hands, a surge of mad desperation egging him on. He didn’t bother even trying to look back until he made it to the end of the alley.

There laid Davin and his cronies, dazed and tangled up in what looked to be vines on the ground. They were dark green and grew from the cracks in the cement like they were always supposed to be there. André hesitated, but when the intercom came on announcing his train, he ran.


End file.
